The release of "… And I’ll Scratch Yours," the companion piece to Peter Gabriel’s 2010 set "Scratch My Back …," marks the culmination of a four-year experimentation in reciprocal interpretation. "Scratch My Back …" was a set of covers of songs by some of Gabriel’s favorite artists; on "… And I’ll Scratch Yours," those artists return the favor. Gabriel’s versions on the first album felt ponderous and under-arranged, but the sequel is a livelier affair. David Byrne substitutes perky neurosis for the howling mania of the original version of "I Don’t Remember," and manages to humanize the narrator; Stephin Merritt locks "Not One of Us" into a robotic groove that highlights its theme of mass conformity; the late Lou Reed gives the raw-guitar "Lulu" treatment to a drawling, jagged-edged version of "Solsbury Hill." Best of all is Randy Newman’s brooding take on "Big Time," which may as well have been a Newman song to begin with. Paul Simon even gets a crack at "Biko," which feels like something that should have happened years ago. Quirky, sweet and oddly personal, the "Scratch My Back … And I’ll Scratch Yours" project confirms something about Gabriel that fans would happily concede: He’s much more comfortable as a songwriter than as a covers singer.— Tris McCall

7 Days of Funk7 Days of Funk (Stones Throw)
After a decade plus as one of the most consistent — and even conservative — artists in mainstream hip-hop, Snoop Dogg is currently making a habit of blindsiding listeners. Few were prepared, for instance, for his 2013 pop-reggae recordings as Snoop Lion. A few months later, he’s back with a new and more assured persona: Snoopzilla, the voice of "7 Days of Funk," his collaboration with California musician Dâm-Funk. Like Snoop Lion, Snoopzilla could not be mistaken for anybody else but the slinky-voiced emcee who emerged from Long Beach in 1991 — even when he takes to the microphone and sings, as he does on the Blood Orange-meets-"Sexual Eruption" "Faden Away," his relaxed, knowing vocals are wholly his own. The difference here is the warm production by Dâm-Funk, which, when it isn’t overwhelmed by reverb, plays like Dr. Dre’s old G-funk refracted through a cloudy prism. A soft-focus version of Snoop Dogg might take some old fans by surprise, but songs such as "Let It Go" and "1Question" are right in keeping with the hazy, artful, throwback funk aesthetic of contemporary hip-hop. At seven songs (eight on the bonus disc), it feels too short; hopefully, there’s a full-length project from the pair in the works.— Tris McCall

Amore e MorteEkaterina Siurina, soprano; Iain Burnside, piano (Opus Arte)
Ekaterina Siurina has the type of soprano voice that’s perfect for sweet soubrette roles: compact, pure and agile, yet with presence and color in its lower range. On a recording of songs by bel canto composers Verdi, Rossini, Bellini and Donizetti, she plays both within and beyond expectations and also shows a particular flair for folk-inflected works.

Verdi’s Violetta comes to mind in his "Stornello" as she sings of being free from love and commitment. In his aria-like "Perduta ho la pace," she comes across as a tragedienne, a role often reserved for fuller voices.

Siurina also offers a vivid interpretation of Donizetti’s sailor song "Amor Marinaro," capturing the seaside lilt as well as the speaker’s fervor. Her ease and sense of character in Rossini’s "La pastorella dell’Alpi," which has yodel-like leaps, charms. So does her embodiment of a blissful chimney sweep in Verdi’s "Lo Spazzocamino" and a gypsy in Donizetti’s "La Zingara."

"The List," Rosanne Cash’s 2009 album of cover versions of songs associated with her late father Johnny Cash, was enthusiastically received. Maybe a bit too enthusiastically: Cash is, principally, a songwriter and not an interpreter, and the success of "The List" gave casual fans the wrong impression of a woman who has long been counted among the most eloquent in country-pop.

Many of those songs were piquant, and some matched Cash’s tart observations to music that flirted with — but never wholly embraced — raucousness. In other words, she’s her father’s daughter: She’s an independent spirit, and she’s always got a compelling story to tell.

Cash, 58, isn’t quite as feisty as she once was. These days, she’s apt to settle into a congenial amble, and her observations are as likely to console as they are to sting. Yet "The River and the Thread," her first set of new material in nearly a decade, is a firm reminder of her indispensability. It pairs her typically detailed, compassionate verse with spare, elegiac music reminiscent of "The List." Casual listeners who miss the fire of Cash’s early ’90s work should be careful where they place their fingers: This slow smolder gets pretty intense, especially when Cash approaches the autobiographical candor she’s known for.

Cash was born in Memphis and spent much of her life in Nashville, and her personal songs have always examined what it means to be a Southern American. "The River and the Thread," which visits and revisits Tennessee, is her deepest investigation of the theme yet.

"When the Master Calls the Roll," a standout, is an aching Civil War story that features Amy Helm, John Prine and Kris Kristofferson on backing vocals; "Etta’s Tune," the lament of a veteran musician in his final days, uncurls like smoke from a Memphis steamboat. Death haunts the entire set, and many of Cash’s characters — like the broken farmers in "The Sunken Lands" — are weary and worn out from labor. Yet they’re all looking mortality squarely in the face and refusing to shirk responsibility, which, Cash seems to imply, is a distinguishing and commendable Southern trait.

This stoicism is underscored by the instrumental performances, many of which add dignity to Cash’s fatalism. Drummers Shawn Pelton and Dan Rieser provide the album a murmuring heartbeat. John Leventhal (Cash’s husband), who produced and arranged the set, decorates the songs with a battery of stringed instruments: guitar, bass, mandolin and remarkably non-psychedelic sitar on closer "Money Road." (There’s even a little celeste on "Night School.") Leventhal has worked with Shawn Colvin before, and "The River and the Thread" often approaches the steely austerity of Colvin’s ’90s albums.

An old-school Rosanne Cash rocker undoubtedly would have enlivened the album. Yet in its thoughtfulness, its poise and its near-hypnotic focus on the mysteries and miseries of the South, "The River and the Thread" is a worthy addition to a rewarding discography.— Tris McCall